Static
by Alamo Girl
Summary: Static: characterized by little or no movement or change. Something Life, most definitely, is not. BB
1. Part I

**Disclaimer:** I claim no rights to the TV show _Bones_, its characters or plots. I'm just borrowing for fun, not money…and I promise they'll come out clean after I'm through with them.

_**A/N**_ As usual, I have to write something that is post-season finale – character introspection/interaction/ _Angsty Tease-or-rama_. And I really hope I didn't get to fluffy with this. Fluff wasn't what I was going for. As always, **please** let me know how I'm doing. I LOVE getting feedback on how I did with Booth/Brennan. I promise there _will_ actually be a second part to this, just like "_Touch Point_"!! Promise! Enjoy!

"**Static"**

"_By friendship you mean the greatest love, the greatest usefulness, the most open communication, the noblest sufferings, the severest truth, the heartiest counsel, and the greatest union of minds which brave men and woman are capable." – Jeremy Taylor (1613-67)_

If you had asked Temperance Brennan a year ago about life – after she predictably asked for the question to be refined (as the concept of 'life' is a broad and inestimable abstract, the scientist in her would need clarification) she would have replied with something educated, logically sound and based in the laudable religion of proved scientific facts to which she was its most faithful disciple. She would have likened it to a time-line we, as all humans, are forced to follow – through infanthood, adolescence, adulthood and geriatric decline to the inevitable conclusion.

Dr. Brennan would have cited the social and moral principles that influence behavior in a particular society, and how an individual finds his or her place within that society. How their roles influence the lives around them, and can be governed by everything from socio-economic level to cultural religious practices. The manner in which a person goes about his life could be measured and examined against those revered anthropological truths – the most fundamental of which was that to understand a person's life, all you had to do was study them in their environment, then compare them to the standards set forth in the history of said _exalted_ anthropological studies.

She would have agreed that we are all the product of our pasts. A child exposed to violence in his household throughout his young life would, invariably, grow up to be a violent adult. A brilliant girl, forced into foster care because her parents had disappeared with no answers, would grow into a forensic anthropologist determined to find answers for those who could no longer ask the questions.

Brennan would have said that 'a' life could be studied, particularly in the past tense. But _life_ as a concept was something in the realm of the philosophical. And she was no good with the philosophical or psychological. See her free-spirited friend Angela for that.

Or her partner. Brave and honorable. Passionate and empathetic with an intuitive ability that continued to confound her. He pulled at the reigns of conformity and authority, yet was surprisingly old-fashioned in many of his beliefs. A lawman and father. Stubborn, sensitive – haunted by ghosts of his past and plagued with need to be responsible for everyone he perceived to be under his protection.

Seeley Booth. Seatmate on the rollercoaster of her life during the past year.

Brennan sat at her table as the sun setting behind the buildings of D.C. tinted her apartment with an orange haze, chasing shadows around the floor and elongating them into distortion. On the couch before her was a formal gown in deep purple. The bow hung uselessly from the hanger – extravagant as the person whose wedding it had been meant to be worn at.

The thought of Angela and Hodgins racing out of the church three weeks ago caused a smile to tug at her lips. Theirs was a combined lifeline that no one could predict. She wondered how they were doing on their impromptu vacation.

_I wonder what will happen for them when they get back._ Brennan was all too aware of responsibilities waiting for one's return, and Angela was in for a treat, sorting out nuptial laws for past wedding ceremonies involving brooms. But, at least they were enjoying the life they had. _Live life big_ – that was Angela's style.

And they were doing it together.

_Life threw them a curve ball, and they made lemonade. Or… something like that_…she was fairly sure she'd screwed up the expression, but Booth wasn't there to correct her. A sudden, irrational stab of jealousy coursed through Brennan – for a moment, she wished she were in Angela's shoes, throwing cares to the proverbial wind and running off with the man she loved.

Therein lay the irony. Love was a part of life Brennan couldn't quantify, didn't really trust and therefore brushed off as irrational. More likely the result of dopamine emitted in the brain as reward for attraction and receptiveness for sex to propagate the species, rather than the all-consuming, undying stuff of sappy movies and sonnets.

Life hadn't exactly primed her for the normal love people crave – most of those who deserved love had let her down in one way or another. So, what kind of predisposed experience was that?

Yet, the look on her best friend's face as she leapt out of the church was something to envy, and Brennan knew it. Her life had order to it; at least, that's how she preferred it to be. She liked to know what was expected of her, have the evidence in front of her to examine, all the facts to vet out.

The knock at the door pulled Brennan from her mental dissection of life, and reminded her that hers was not necessarily a life of unwavering lines. She hadn't planned on any visitors that night.

On the other side of her door – clad in faded blue-jeans; a soft green logo tee-shirt – the Royal Flush hand of cards printed on it barely visible and a navy blue jacket with his hands shoved in his pockets in a shy way – was Booth.

He looked up from his shoes. He met her eyes with the boyish-grin, the one she usually saw when he showed up unannounced and didn't seem sure _why_ he was there. It softened his features, making him look younger, less weathered and jaded.

"Hey."

"Hey," she returned.

Any irk she'd felt at being disturbed on one of the few nights she didn't work faded away as she looked him over. Something twinkled in his eye when he saw her, and it looked like he'd missed her. It had been a few days since they'd seen each other, the case with her father had initially thrown up some walls between them – Booth trying to do his job, and Brennan unsure how she felt about any of it. Max Keenan had a habit of turning her world on its head.

After the Hodgins-Angela "almost" wedding, they'd shared a cup of coffee, some idle chat, but it had felt awkward to Brennan. Part of it, she figured, was because Booth looked too damned handsome in that suit – cut to accentuate his broad shoulders and chest in a way that was completely distracting. But something else had been nagging her that night, while she tried to enjoy her friend's company. There was something in his eyes as he gazed at her, like he was trying to see through to her soul.

She'd dubbed it Booth's _look_: the one that seemed to be depthless with empathy yet scorched her insides and raised goose-bumps on her skin at the same time. It seemed to happen when they were sharing a moment… intimate… when the walls cracked and she allowed him to see in, if just for a moment. It was like he suddenly completely and utterly 'got' her, and that was very disconcerting. Brennan had never had that kind of insight with anyone. And if there was anyone out there she wanted to be able to look upon with that kind of absolute _depth_, that kind of penetrating understanding, it was Booth.

The _look_ scared her a little when she caught him doing it, made her feel exposed…even if it was _him_.

"Um…so, can I come in?" he asked, after what Brennan realized must have been a long pause.

"Oh, yeah. Sure." She moved aside, allowing him in, and smiled hoping, she didn't look too scatterbrained.

"I'm not, you know, interrupting anything here…?" Booth moved into her den, surreptitiously looking around for any indication that Brennan wasn't alone. He couldn't fault her for starting to date again, but he wholeheartedly hoped she hadn't and he wasn't really sure why…

Brennan watched him scan her apartment with an investigator's prowess, before coming to rest at her counter to casually flip through some paperwork she left there.

She closed her door and walked toward him. "No. Just doing some work I'd brought home." She flipped the file he'd been perusing closed and stacked it further away. "Just hanging…"

Booth snorted, moving to her table, "Yeah, right. You don't 'hang'." He glanced between the files on the counter and the lone coffee cup on the table. If she'd been doing work, it would be all over the table with her coffee. He picked up the cup and sniffed. "Oh, yuck. This stuff turns to motor oil when you leave it sitting forever, you know that, right?"

Brennan snatched the cup away, "I was busy reading the files."

"Uh huh. The files that were lying unopened on the other side of the room?"

She looked back at the files on the far side of her counter and realized what he was indicating. He'd waltzed in and expertly read her apartment like she would read bones. And he'd come to the correct conclusion: she wasn't immersed in work as she pretended, but sitting alone, not even bothering to touch the full cup of now-stale coffee in front of her. He was deducing that something must be wrong.

Brennan looked back to Booth, concern written all over his face. The _irk_ returned. "Why are you here, Booth?" It had come out a little harsher than intended, and Booth faltered.

He rubbed the back of his neck, edged over to the couch and flopped down as if he owned the place. He covered his falter with nonchalance, "What, I can't just come by and see my partner? Visit? See how you're doing? _Hang_?"

He waggled his brows in an attempt to tease a smile out of Brennan. It only got narrowed eyes in return.

"You don't usually just _come by_ unless something's going on, though. You come by unannounced when you need something…"

Booth frowned. She wasn't responding as he hoped she would.

"…Or, unless you're worried about me for some reason." She crossed her arms and studied him. He started to shift uncomfortably under her cool gaze.

"Bones…"

"So, which is it? Is there a new case you need my help on?"

"No," he started to lean forward, rubbing his forehead. "I jus–"

"Has something happened? Have you heard from Hodgins or Angela?" she asked.

"Wait, _why_ would–?" Booth shook his head at the new bout of confusion making his head ache. "No! You'd hear from them before me, she's _your_ best friend!"

"Is it my father–"

Booth interjected solemnly, "_No_."

She paused at his tone, catching a darker look in his eyes. "Then what? It's not a case, nothing has happened at the lab since I left yesterday, and it doesn't have to do with my father…" She paced away from the couch, while Booth scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration, "The only other reason I can think of for you to be here is that you're worried about me for some reason. Honestly, Booth, I'm fine!"

Booth growled under his breath. "_Geez, it couldn't be because I missed you or anything!_"

As Brennan spun around to ask him to repeat that, he went on, his voice wearily pleading. "C'mon, Bones. Your over-analyzing is about to make my brain explode."

He reached out, took her by the forearms and placed her on the couch like a child being sat down for a serious talk. She sat cautiously – Booth's reaction to her prodding was curious and flustered.

"Nothing is going on, no cases, no bad guys, and no squinty jobs for the Squint Squad. I just came over to see you, Bones. You know, spend time in your presence? Friends do that, you know." He gave her a crooked smile, hoping to allay her suspicions.

Truth was, he had been a little worried to find evidence that Brennan was sitting home alone, in a darkening apartment – not knee-deep in wads of files or cases, but probably staring off into oblivion. The apartment screamed 'isolation' to him when he arrived, and he hated seeing Brennan revert. She'd come so far this past year, even with all the bumps and jack-knife swerves thrown her way. Booth loved going to the diner with her after cases, or just to grab a bite after work and talk.

It was then that he'd receive the privilege of seeing the barriers lift and Brennan would give a little piece of herself to him. When she actually started singing the song "Keep On Trying", after Max's return, a song he knew held some emotional importance for her and her father – and he found himself joining in, Booth thought his chest would explode from happiness. It was something private and intimate from her past, and she was allowing him to partake of it. Like a precious jewel, Booth knew he'd hold tight to that memory, for Temperance Brennan sang an awkward duet with him in a diner - a song that she used to sing with her father.

No one else could say they'd had that privilege, and Booth considered it a great honor. Her face held a childlike joy and he committed that vision to his memory forever, because with the way life had been treating her lately, he knew seeing such an expression would be rare. And oh, how his heart pounded when she smiled at him and laughed…

Booth realized he was still holding her wrists in his. She was watching him carefully, and suddenly aware of her soft skin under his fingers, his cheeks warmed. He pulled away with a cough.

"Besides," he leaned an arm across the back of the couch, "After a couple of days without me, I thought you might be going through withdrawal."

Brennan couldn't help but chuckle as the 'charm smile' was put on full force.

"I'm not that far gone," she said, relaxing a bit. Something in that smile always eased tension within her. Maybe it was because it was meant just for her; Booth's playful side was usually aimed at trying to get her to loosen up…because he cared. And that thought ignited a spark of warmth inside.

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"_It is not how much you know about life, but how you live your life that counts. In a world full of uncertainties, the record of what has gone before – human experience – is as sure and reliable as anything of which we know." – Ray Lyman Wilbur_

_------------------------------------------_

Brennan decided that fresh coffee was needed after Booth made another disparaging comment on the evils of letting a perfectly good cup o' joe sit out until it petrified into a new life form. They had sat together on the couch for a good hour, something that wasn't all that unusual later in the evening when they were working a case and decided to order take-out. Booth seemed to prefer working on cases at Brennan's place, rather than his, which made Brennan wonder if he wasn't a little worried that Rebecca might show up for some reason.

She'd been witness to Booth's 'entertainment' of women at his apartment, and it wasn't something she ever wanted to repeat. There was also something to be said about going over to the place where your partner regularly bedded your boss – and even though she knew he and Cam weren't seeing each other anymore, it still made her stomach clench uncomfortably to think about going over to his place.

Their conversation had started out rocky, as neither was very good at holding casual friendly conversation with the other, unless it came after a case that had become too personal. Those talks usually happened at the diner, and were a welcome pressure-release valve for both. Over the year, Brennan found it easier and easier to open up to Booth as more and more of her personal past was shoved into the light. He'd been beside her all the time, even coaxing her into a few 'guy' hugs (though she was well aware they were anything but) – and she'd even overcome her innate prickliness to physical affection and started doling out hugs quite regularly. Much to the surprise of her fellow Squints.

But their talk had rounded back to work, the inevitability of it not surprising the two partners at all. Booth had asked her if she'd heard from Max lately, and something stifling set in on Brennan. Booth had skillfully closed some of the distance between them on the couch, his arm on the couch-back nearly encompassing her. Brennan had fumbled around the questions, trying not to let on how much she was worried about her father, and Booth, seeing right through the façade had only wanted to protect her more.

She took a deep, steadying breath as she put the coffee pot on. It was getting weird again. Just like after the canceled wedding. Even though she'd avoided his eyes through most of that conversation, she was fairly sure he'd been giving her _the look_.

It was odd to her how easily Booth could maneuver the conversation into the realm of the personal and private, without her being ready. She should have seen it coming, she thought – after all, since he'd returned before Angela's wedding, she was conflicted over whether or not he should be caught. At one time, she wouldn't have even balked at the question. Her father was a murderer…and she caught murderers. But now…

"Bones, you shouldn't feel guilty about it."

On cue, Booth had hit the nail on its sensitive little head, and Brennan had to mentally regroup from the surprise. He'd sidled up behind her as she attempted to pour the coffee, reaching past her to retrieve a cup for himself. Their arms brushed together, and Brennan pulled instinctively away from the electric-like shock. If Booth felt the same, he didn't let on as he poured his coffee.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, averting her eyes to her cup.

"Max chose the life he's living. He made that choice probably before you were born, so you shouldn't feel guilty about turning him in." Booth leaned a hand on the counter, regarding her gently.

"My father is a murdering bank robber with no qualms about beating information out of people, Booth. Why should I feel badly about trying to bring him to justice, even if he did help save your life? You're the one who verbally justified his actions with the Deputy Director." She shrugged, eyeing him over her cup. "Besides, you're the one who couldn't bring him in the last couple of times."

"_Excuse me_ – Max Keenan, _in custody_ right now…thank you very much!" He leaned forward, and arched a brow. "_You_ gave him a get-away car one of those times, while I was still tied to a chair!"

"I forgot my keys in the ignition," she answered. "I was a little busy saving you at the time."

Booth's face melted into a soft smile for a moment. Brennan caught his gaze for a second, before looking down with a smile of her own. It dawned on the both of them how many times they had saved each other.

They'd held each other's lives in their hands – figuratively and literally.

After a beat she continued, her voice a bit softer, almost regretful, "I guess it was just sort of a shock when you finally arrested him and brought him in. After fifteen years on the run…always getting away."

"His life was bound to catch up with him sooner or later." Booth said, looking down on her while she rolled her coffee around in her cup idly. "Reap what you sow…you know…though, I still don't blame him for some of what he did." When Brennan looked up he added softly, "He did everything trying to protect you – to keep you safe from the dark parts of his life."

Brennan's eyes shifted away from him in acknowledgement. She knew Booth would do the exact same thing to protect her.

He crossed one arm over his chest while he held his cup up with the other hand, and leaned back on the counter, a wry smile on his lips. "Ol' Max didn't go in quietly, I can tell you that."

Brennan nodded. "I heard. I'm sorry about your testicles."

Booth jerked forward, spluttering and choking on his coffee while Brennan's eyes twinkled with mirth. After two minutes of strangling on his drink, not to mention his wounded ego, he turned to her flabbergasted.

"_Whatthe–?_ How–? Did Max tell you…?" Booth squared his shoulders, which to Brennan's trained eye showed he was reasserting his dominant stature in the face of having something potentially embarrassing displayed in front of his female partner. She found it predictable, if not endearing. His alpha-side rearing its head again.

When he pointed a finger at her, square jaw jutted out defiantly and rising to his full height – she broke into a full grin.

"Listen, I don't care _what_ he told you – it was a lousy sucker punch! That's all!"

She knew laughing could damage the male ego further, but she also knew Booth. His ego was no fragile flower.

"No, Booth, he didn't tell me anything. I went to the FBI building when you called to tell me you were bringing Max in. One of the guys in the office told me you'd brought in a suspect to interrogation, and that you both looked beat to hell. That coupled with the stiffness in your gate, the way you were consciously trying to distribute your weight by widening your stance indicated trauma to the genit–"

"–Okay, _okay_! You know what? Changing the subject…" Booth swallowed nervously, suddenly very glad he wasn't wearing his favorite "Cocky" belt buckle, for he was feeling very self conscious at the moment. Definitely _not_ a _cocky_ moment…

Brennan never understood why talk of sexual nature, even if it was anatomical, made a virile, macho guy like Booth squirm.

"_No guy likes having his manliness or the family jewels called into question,"_ she could hear Angela say. _"The big guy is always gonna be protective of the 'little' guy."_

She didn't figure Booth wanted to hear the anthropological explanation of why 'size' doesn't matter to women. She was pondering that theory when Booth's voice cut through her thoughts.

"You ever think about life in general?" His tone was irritatingly light for such a weighty question.

"Uh…I'm not sure what you're getting at," she hedged. Again, he'd seemingly reached into her head and plucked out the very subject she'd spent most of her night musing. It was eerie.

He turned to her, "Sure you do, Bones. Life. The thing that happens to us while we wait for something better? The tangled mish-mash of events and circumstances that can shape us or break us?" He tilted his head down to catch her eye, all the humor in his tenor erased as his eyes took on a deeper shade of an emotion Brennan couldn't identify. "The thing that can bring two people from totally different worlds together…"

Brennan shuddered. How could he have known that she was pondering all of these theories herself just a couple of hours before? And how could he fathom they way his simple, rambling description could cut her to the soul?

"I thought it was Fate that did all of that, not life. Or so those philosophers and poets you love to romanticize about would have us believe…" She hugged herself, taking a miniscule step backward only to feel the wall against her back. Under his gaze she was exposed again – though not feeling threatened, she didn't quite know how to handle these new emotions wreaking havoc on her psyche.

He smiled tenderly, noting the barb about his tendency to lean to the romantic but not caring in the least. He was reading her every move and knowing they were broaching the invisible 'line' that somehow always materialized between partners and friends and the _something more_. However, for the life of him, Booth couldn't seem to back away from that line now.

"Fate sets up the scene, puts us in the right place at the right time. I think its life's experiences that allow us to choose which road to go down." He set his forgotten cup down near Brennan's elbow, leaving his hand resting very close to her.

In her personal space, yet not encompassing – he watched her intently. She had an out, if she wished – she could simply slide past him and escape. But he fervently hoped she wouldn't for once. For once, he wanted her to open up without the prompt of an emotional case.

Few knew the romantic in Seeley Booth, and the times he let a little of it show around Brennan, it was veiled in humor or sarcasm. Now he was offering himself to her in all seriousness – rarely did he allow himself to dive head-first into dramatic, soul-searching discussions. That did not mean he didn't think about it, though.

Unabashedly, Booth was standing in Brennan's apartment, a few perilous inches from her face, talking about life and fate… and suddenly realizing with gut-clenching certainty the kind of power this woman held over him. As he watched her try to sort her thoughts and feelings, he waited and prayed she wouldn't balk. He hoped she wouldn't regress into the analyst – cold and sterile. For that kind of scientifically aloof reply to his roundabout way of getting her to see that while life knocked them around, it also brought them together, might have crushed him.

It had been a sucker-punch kind of year for Booth as well, and while most might think that Brennan was the one who needed him as her touchstone to real life, he wanted to show her…to _prove_ to her that _he_, in fact, needed _her_ too.

-------------------------------------------

Brennan swayed a little, her blue eyes hazed as she struggled to find a coherent thought. Something told her not to over analyze Booth's theory on life, not to give him some textbook reply. Now wasn't the time. She had to choose her words very carefully, because until now, she hadn't completely grasped how important her answer was. Or how much Booth's understanding meant to her…

"I think that a lot of the time…life sucks."

At Booth's surprised and slightly reproving look, she hurried on with her explanation.

"Day in and day out, I deal with the darkest acts that humans are capable of. I give the dead a voice to answer questions that their loved ones are asking, because no one was able to do that for me when my parents disappeared. No one could tell me how to find them, or why they left…or why life chose me for that kind of torture."

Her eyes glistened and Booth couldn't help but place a hand on her arm, wanting to give some sort of support. If this sort of soul-searching meant pain for Brennan, he'd learn to keep his damned mouth shut from now on.

But she waved him off. "I don't believe in bad luck, bad karma or whatever. Everything happened because of the roads my parents chose to travel. People usually know that what they're doing is going to have bad repercussions when they do it…but when they go ahead and do it anyway, someone is left to clean up. That's what I have to do for the victims of crimes – deal with the consequences of other's actions so that some form of justice and peace is attained. We _both_ do it, every day."

He smiled at that, remembering their conversation in that convertible back in Los Angeles.

Brennan sighed, staring off into her apartment. "Seeing those things everyday can make a person think life sucks, Booth."

"I know."

"But," she turned to him, looking up into his face, "I also think that life experienced prepares us for our future. If Fate works as you say it does, then maybe it aligned the circumstances that would have you assigned to a case that couldn't be solved without a forensic anthropologist." She smiled then, daring him to take the bait.

Which he did, with a chuckle. "Oh, so Fate decided I couldn't handle cases by myself anymore, thus steering me to you?"

"Hey, you're the one who said Fate sets us up, we have to _choose_ to go along."

Booth shook his head grinning. "I knew my words would come back to bite me."

Her voice was sincere. "I think that the past evidence shows that while life will always be marked with despair and pain, it'll also allow us to grow from those experiences and turn them into something good. I knew, without a doubt, what I wanted to do when I grew up after my parents disappeared. I wanted to help others – to make sure families didn't go through that kind of doubt with out some answers."

"You were trained to kill by the government." When he winced, she reached forward and touched his arm. "You were protecting your country. Now, you protect in a different way, by catching criminals so they can't harm anyone else."

Booth looked down at her hand, then back to her face – a gentle, grateful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something ignited inside him at her touch, working its way from his chest outward.

"In science, when an experiment shows little change – is inactive or motionless – it's defined as being in a _static_ state." She removed her hand, missing the slight disappointment flit across Booth's features at her action. "You asked me what I think about life. Life is _not_ static, and the circumstances that occur during one's life cause paths to cross, roads to intersect. Two people, prepared by starkly different circumstances can be brought together under a common goal… creating a partnership."

The look in Booth's eyes stole her breath for a moment. She kept absolutely still, for fear any movement might break the spell that had been cast about them, and while a shiver worked its way down her spine urging her to break the soul-gaze, her heart shouted to hold on. She'd spent her entire life keeping men at arm's length – they'd always disappoint or fail her in some way. Or _she_ would be the one to fail them. Booth was the singular variance in the litany of erstwhile relationships – the one which lasted despite all of her quirks and social foibles.

He was the one to count on, and she knew somewhere in her decidedly un-romantic self, that he would do everything in his power to remain that constant. Perhaps that was why her hands started to tremble as she felt him leaning toward her – his eyes fastened to her lips, head tilting downward as she felt her breath catch and her lower back press almost painfully into the wall. This was a line that couldn't be crossed… that shouldn't be crossed… _not now…not yet…! We'd never be able to go back…_

Booth's hand had just come up, two fingers ever so softly under her chin to tilt it upward – when a shrill ring shattered the silence.

Brennan jolted what felt like two feet in the air, as Booth jumped backward, quite ungracefully knocking his coffee cup over and spilling its contents over the counter. A blush crept up his neck as he swore fervently under his breath.

It took another ring before Brennan could find her voice. "Um… I'd better get that," she stated, for no apparent reason other than to assure herself that she should actually move from her rooted spot, and slow her racing heart.

"Yeah, uh… sorry. I'll clean this up." Booth's voice was a little shaky. As he reached for a towel to wipe up his mess, and was sure that Brennan had moved out of the kitchen area, he thumped his forehead on one of her cabinets good and hard.

"Stupid!" _thud_ "Stupid!" _thud_ "_Stupid_," he hissed, hoping his partner had moved away and wouldn't hear (or see, hopefully) the complete ass he was making of himself. Booth shook his head ironically – this was a _D'oh!_-moment to make Homer Simpson proud.

Even as embarrassment gave way to half-hearted regret, he couldn't seem to get the look in Brennan's wide eyes out of his mind. Oh, he'd have gone through it with. There was no doubt his head wasn't the part he'd been thinking with at the time. That's what he was kicking himself over. Thinking with his heart and not his head could ruin everything, and that wasn't an option he was willing to accept – no matter what his overly-sentimental soul was yelling at the top of its lungs.

Brennan answered the phone, moving well away from her partner in the kitchen, and grateful for the escape. Now she could breathe. Think. Act rationally.

"Brennan."

"Sweetie! It's me, we just got back! I brought gifts, too – duty-free alcohol, jewelry, shirts, thongs…did I mention the cheap booze? We seriously need to take up the lifestyle of the people of Belize: _live life, have fun, drink lots_!" Angela's voice was a flurry of excitement and information. Brennan could barely make out what she was talking about.

"What? Did you annul your former marriage?"

"Pshh…the less said about that the better, babe. Ongoing drama. Meet me and Hodgins at the lab in the morning. We've got presents!" She said in a sing-song voice. "And make sure Booth is there."

"I'll ask him, he's here now." She said, before thinking.

Angela's Cheshire Cat grin was obvious over the phone. "Reeeally? There, at your place, now? Late at night? Burning the midnight oil… or the sheets… you should be burning up something…"

"Ange."

"Yeah, yeah…just make sure you and that handsome piece of federal issue man-candy are in the lab tomorrow morning." She hung up, leaving Brennan to silently curse the dial tone.

TBC…

Please **Read** and **Review**!

* * *

Oh yes. I'm ending there…but you will get to find out what Angela brought. And how B/B deal with their-not-so-static relationship. Wishing flying monkeys to attack me until I update? Cursing me in general for the cliffie? Good! I need all the prodding I can get! Keep it up in the lovely REVIEWS! 

Thanks, as always, to super-betas **Sean Montgomery** and **Htbthomas**!


	2. Part II

**Disclaimer**See previous chapter. Still not claiming any ownership to _BONES_, but I will own-up to being _Teasy_ _McScrewWithYou_ when it comes to this plot!

**A/N**: Thank you so much to those who continue to read and review. I love working with Booth and Brennan, even if all I do is screw with them a little! I guess I really do live up to the _Teasy McScrewWithYou_ title, don't I? Enjoy and please, as always, let me know how I did!

"**Static"**

**Part II**

"_At different stages in our lives, the signs of love may vary: dependence, attraction, contentment, worry, loyalty, grief…but at heart the source is always the same. Human beings have the rare capacity to connect with each other, against all odds." – Michael Dorris_

If things had been awkward before, by the time Brennan got off the phone and Booth tried to excuse himself, it had entered the realm of the absurd. Booth nearly tripped over his own feet (not to mention his tongue) as he attempted to leave Brennan's apartment.

For her part, Brennan was only able to offer one word replies to everything he said.

"You know? I think I'll head out, its…uh…kinda lo–_late_…" he scrubbed his fist over his jeans nervously, backing out of her kitchen area, watching her and stumbling into the kitchen door frame all at the same time. "Thanks for the hot kis–_coffee_! _Hot coffee_…and all…"

"Okay." She watched his foot kick a potted plant near her door, and he snatched it mid-teeter, righting it with a sheepish look.

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

Still facing her, he reached behind to grab the door handle, a lopsided grin on his face. "So, see you at the lab tomorrow?"

"Yes." She still hadn't moved from where she'd hung up the phone with Angela and informed him of her request of his presence at the lab the next day.

"Okay, good."

"Good."

"See you tomorrow then." The door had been inadvertently locked when he arrived, so his smooth exit was stalled by a fumble with the handle. After his comical jabbing at the deadbolt, he grinned back at her with the door now open. "Stupid lock," he gestured.

Brennan's smile looked more like she'd been caught by paparazzi outside a male strip club. "Yeah. Forgot I locked it." _Lame, Brennan_.

"Yeah." His laugh sounded like a dumbstruck teenager, "Well…g'night!"

Brennan gave him a short nod, before the door closed and she plodded numbly to her couch, tossed the phone into a cushion, sat and buried her face in her hands.

"Now I understand what Murphy's Law really meant," she mumbled into her hands.

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"I don't understand." Zack Addy stated, while moving an instrument over a bleached bone in his hand, magnifier glasses perched on his nose giving him the comical look of a goggle-eyed fish. "Why didn't she spend her time off actually working on rectifying the situation with her other marriage?"

Brennan stood closely by, taking measurements of the femur of the centuries-old corpse she and the new _Doctor_ Addy were identifying.

"I supposed she wanted to spend time with Hodgins, and not on the uncomfortable business of trying to find the man she _doesn't_ remember marrying while vacationing with the new man she _currently_ wants to marry." She jotted numbers down on the worksheet before her.

"_You_ would have taken time to find the guy, Dr. Brennan," he stated offhandedly.

She frowned, cutting a look at her young colleague.

"They were near the island where she apparently went though some marriage ritual; why not take advantage of the proximity to inquire at the local magistrate's offices?"

Brennan shrugged. "Maybe she had more important things on her mind."

"Like what?" Zack glance up, his eyes enlarged through the magnifying lenses blinked like a near-sighted fly.

Brennan looked up from her page and smirked at his image just as a voice cut into their conversation.

"…Like discovering as many new and possibly dangerous places to have sex as one can on a small island with no public indecency laws." Angela strolled up onto the platform, her arms laden with colorful bags.

Jack Hodgins followed, his fair skin tinged with red from the sun. Brennan noticed something different about the pair – a relaxed happiness she would often observe in couples – one of which she, more than a few times, found herself secretly jealous.

"Okay, darling," Jack said, a furtive glance toward his boss and a sheepish smile, "They don't need a picture drawn for them about our vacation."

"Angela _is_ an artist, so she _could_ actually draw us that pic—_OW_!" Zack glared at Hodgins after receiving a sound slap up-side his head.

Brennan smiled as her best friend enveloped her in a hug. "I'm glad you're back."

"I have to admit, even with the beautiful scenery, crystal clear water and incredible drinks with enough alcohol to make you forget your name – I missed you, sweetie." Angela pulled back to look at her friend. She gave Brennan an appraising once-over, "Well you look awful. I'd have figured the case work would be down to a minimum and _maybe_ you'd actually take a break. Stupid me."

Brennan shot her a baleful look. "Thanks, Ange."

Angela waved her off, and grabbed her hand to lead her off the platform. "Oh, you know what I mean." She led the doctor from the work platform to her office, where Brennan shrugged out of her lab coat and fairly collapsed into her desk chair. Angela moved a sack she'd already dropped off occupying the adjacent chair and sat down, watching as Brennan massaged her temples wearily.

Hodgins and Zack could be heard in the lab, already arguing over some test results and the state of Hodgins' work area (a state, which he was adamantly contending _was not_ the way he left it). Angela smiled briefly at the boys' antics, before turning back to the matter at hand: Brennan.

"So, where's Booth?"

The name brought Brennan's head up with a snap, and an expression that could only have been guilt mixed with a little fear flitted across her features. But, she schooled her countenance to one of blithe ignorance – though she knew it hadn't been fast enough to escape her friend's eye. Angela could be scary when it came to emotional insight.

"I don't know, his office maybe?" Brennan stated mildly.

She had not slept, and truthfully, dreaded the following morning. She hadn't worked with Booth on a case outside the lab in a while. Since her father's arrest, actually. And now that she thought about it, the night before was the first time in probably two weeks that she'd spent time alone with him.

Angela's voice was annoyingly calm. "Are you avoiding him for some reason, today?"

Damn it. The woman could be positively psychic at times – and Brennan didn't even believe in that stuff!

Brennan scoffed, "Don't be silly, Ange…you know I saw him last night. Why would I be avoiding him today?"

Angela lifted a brow at her. "I don't know, you tell me, babe. Did something happen last night?" To her credit, Angela kept the usual explicit leer out of her voice that usually accompanied questions about Booth and Brennan. Her face was passive, almost disconnected, as though she were studying a painting for inner meaning.

Brennan squirmed. Lewd, lascivious, flirtatiously-explicit Angela she could handle. Shrewd, calculating Angela worried her.

"No, nothing happened. We had coffee. We talked. He left." Brennan said. "That's it."

Angela studied her friend for another moment, before lifting a corner of her mouth in a smirk. "Okay, sweetie. If you say so."

Brennan huffed, but Angela continued on, "Well, I still need his _Studlyness_ here. I have something for him."

Brennan decided to busy her hands, so she started arranging files on her desk. "I told him you wanted to see him, but I haven't seen him this morning."

"You haven't seen him much, period. I can't believe you'd stay holed-up in this lab instead of chasing down the bad guys at Booth's side for the last few weeks!" Angela crossed her arms and raised both brows this time.

Brennan looked at her in bald surprise.

"Yeah, I heard. Kinda gets around this place when the Jeffersonian's Dynamic Duo…just… aren't so dynamic right now." Angela cocked her head to one side, accusingly.

Brennan goggled for a moment, trying to form a response. How in the hell did her and Booth's relationship become fodder for the Jeffersonian's rumor mill – or more importantly, _how long_ had it been this way?

"I– how… I've had things to take care of here in the lab. You know Zack may be leaving on assignment in Iraq soon. I had to see about replacements! I have to finish assignments that have been sitting on the shelf for so long the evidence is probably compromised!" Brennan hadn't realized her voice was rising with her frustration. She stood and paced around her desk, "You really don't realize, do you? How much I put on hold around here to help Booth?"

Angela stood as well, arms still crossed, "I know how much getting out into the field meant to you, once upon a time. You fought _your_ bosses _and_ Booth's to get your famous butt out there in the field… solving crimes… working with your _partner_." She stressed the last word, and Brennan winced.

She knew she'd been avoiding Booth since her father's arrest, but until now, she hadn't pondered the real reason. _Stupid damn psychology, for all the good it does! I've nearly sacrificed the lab to chase after Booth for so long! Maybe I need to concentrate on things here… and not on him…_

Angela softened. She came to sit next to her friend on the couch. "I've never known you to make excuses, Bren. What's the real reason you've been sticking close to home? Did Booth say something, do something…?"

Brennan sighed. Suddenly she felt terribly tired. "No. I don't— … no."

Angela frowned. Her normally articulate friend stammering troubled her. After a moment, she spoke solemnly, "Booth arrested Max Keenan. He put your father away."

"So what?" Brennan bristled. "He's a criminal."

"He's your dad."

"He's a murder. He puts people close to him in danger…"

"He's still your dad, sweetie."

Brennan sat back and gave her a scornful look. "You're as bad as Booth, all of you trying to psychoanalyze things into oblivion! What? Now I'm distancing myself from Booth because subconsciously I'm mad at him?"

She couldn't believe the absurdity of the accusation. But the niggling fear in the back of her stubborn mind was – Angela might be right. Was she really mad at Booth? Is that why she'd been feeling so uncomfortable around him lately? _And last night, when he almost… when we almost…_

Brennan shuddered. Angela put a hand on her shoulder bracingly. "Sweetie, no one is attacking you. But you have been acting weird around Booth since the 'almost' wedding. I know he's been by here with a couple of cases, and you've begged out of going in the field with him, just doing what you could from the lab."

Brennan looked at her suspiciously. Angela read the expression and shrugged with a smug smile. "Hey… I'm Angela. I know everything."

A smile broke out across Brennan's face and Angela conceited, "And…_maybe_ Zack has been sending Hodgins some text messages updating us on the happenings around here. For _Zack_ to pick up on something between you and Booth, that's pretty freakin' obvious, sweetie."

A chuckled bubbled up from Brennan, and felt good despite her earlier pique. Suddenly, she needed to talk… about what had happened, about _everything_ it seemed.

"I don't know – I don't know what to think. Everything's gotten complicated, and then he comes over to my apartment and starts talking about life, and fate…"

Angela's ears fairly perked up, "Who's fate? Yours and his? Together?"

But Brennan continued to rattle on, as if the dam had burst, "…and he can give me this _look_, you know? And I think he's trying to read my mind…and honestly, I think the whole concept of preconceived destiny is fictitious at best…but you know Booth, he's just so—"

"… Just so… what?" Booth ambled through her office door, hands in his pockets. His tie – garish as usual – was loosened, and he too, had an air of restless fatigue about him. The curious grin on his face faded as Brennan physically jumped in surprise at his presence.

She stood, glanced quickly at him, and then averted her eyes. He continued to watch her. Angela looked between the two partners – _two friends_ – who couldn't seem to make eye contact with each other.

The tension in the room was palpable now, and something in the way Booth looked at his now-uncomfortable partner, seemed to shift the puzzle pieces into place in Angela's mind.

She beamed at Booth. "Just so… predictable!"

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"_When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand.  
__The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares." --Henri Nouwen  
_--------------------------------------------

Booth sauntered into Brennan's office, as Brennan perched, a safe distance away, on her table and watched him.

"Why am I predictable?" he asked Angela.

Angela, instead, walked up and threw her arms around his neck. "Sweetie, you are always predictably gorgeous! I missed your FBI _booty-liciousness_!"

Booth blushed a little and chuckled. "Missed you too, Angela." He returned the hug. Angela pulled away, but not before pinching his cheek for old time's sake.

Then his eyes fell back on Brennan, who was smirking at her friend's antics. They locked eyes for a few moments, a replay of the night before obviously riding the current between the connection. Booth chanced a small smile, but Brennan looked away.

"So…" Angela cut the awkward silence, "Solved many cases since I've been gone?" The question was aimed at Booth, but she was watching Brennan's reaction with interest.

Booth looked at Brennan before answering awkwardly. "Yeah. A few, I guess. I mean… a couple… right, Bones?" He looked at her pleadingly, as if this were some façade he needed her help in conjuring.

Brennan fumbled her agreement. "Yeah. A couple, I'd say… one or two…"

He jumped in, "Yeah."

Angela was looking at them like she was watching a tennis match. She huffed a laugh, sarcastically, "_Awkward_: party of two!"

Brennan and Booth looked at her quizzically.

"Oh geeze, you two! If I didn't know any better," she turned to find one of the bags she'd left in Brennan's office, "I'd think you two had a case of 'morning after remorse'!"

She was rummaging in the bag and missed the blush that crept up Booth's neck – even Brennan had the grace to color a bit in the cheeks.

"Nothing happened between Booth and me, Angela." Brennan's voice was harder than intended, but even though nothing had happened, she wasn't used to feeling embarrassed. Booth's blush was making it worse…and she suddenly felt like her mom had caught her making out with a boy from school. "Besides, even if it had, you of all people know the benefits to recreational sex and the release of biological–"

"Whoa!" Booth had had enough, he stepped between the women. "Angela knows, we _all_ know… don't really need to go down that road again…"

Angela gave him a sympathetic look as she pulled two items wrapped in tissue paper out of the bag. She knew Brennan hadn't kept her sex life with Sully a secret around Booth (or anyone, for that matter) and while she could applaud the attempt her friend made at "living life big", she knew any reminder of that time made Booth more than uncomfortable.

_The big lug just can't admit it_, Angela thought. "Okay, moving on from sexual frustration land," – she barely stopped with Booth's indignant _"Hey!"_ – "I have something for the both of you."

She unwrapped the smaller of the two packages.

"Oh, Angela," Brennan breathed, "It's beautiful!"

Angela held the intricately woven necklace up for her friend. Tiny turquoise jewels were entwined around several kinds of shells, each with its own luminescence. Brennan held the necklace up reverently, turning the round stones and shells over in her fingers. After a moment of studying the style and type shells within the jewelry, she looked to her friend.

Brennan raised a brow in jest. "You had this specially made, didn't you?"

Angela grinned. "Of course. You don't think that combination of shells hangs in every store in the islands, do you?"

Booth had come to stand next to his partner, looking at the necklace, then at the two women in confusion. "Okay, am I missing something here? Some little Squinty inside joke that nobody without a 300 level I.Q. could get?"

Angela mock-glared as Brennan smiled and bestowed her_ teacher-ly _look on Booth. As she began to explain the meanings of some of the shells, a little smile tugged at Booth's mouth – he'd missed this interaction with her _so much_…

"… Historians and archeologists have been studying the Polynesian culture for centuries to try to understand some of the customs surrounding their jewelry," Brennan explained. "Some believe that certain shells held significant meaning and were used in everything from marriage headdresses to warrior necklaces and bracelets. Young warriors would tell a story of their battles through the type and style of embellishments they wore."

Just then, Booth reached out and touched one of the darker shells on the necklace. His hand grazed Brennan's fingers, the shudder that rippled through her made her breath hitch mid-sentence. Booth too, seemed to feel it, but didn't remove his hand.

"So, what do these particular shells mean?" he questioned softly, his eyes drinking in the soft flush on her cheeks.

Brennan swallowed, "That… that shell is murex. It's supposed to mean intelligence and poise." Gingerly she fingered another shell, their hands nearly entwined now… "This is a piece of starfish, which stands for orderliness and persistence…"

"Sound like anyone you know, Booth?" Angela had been watching the exchange between the partners with rapt attention.

She could practically feel the energy between the two – her gift was having the desired effect. Now, if she could just give Booth his gift, then beat a retreat and leave Brennan to explain all its meanings… maybe the two of them would finally get out with whatever had been pushing them apart lately.

As if suddenly realizing he wasn't alone with Brennan, Booth looked to Angela and dropped his hand. Brennan's soft skin under his sent his senses into overdrive, and now they were screaming at the loss of contact.

"Nah, doesn't sound like anyone I know at all," he joked, sharing a smile with the woman next to him.

"You really shouldn't have, Angela. I know it had to be hard to commission this." Brennan admonished.

Angela guffawed. "Oh please, Hodgins was the one who found the jeweler."

Hodgins entered on cue, "Yep. And finding all those shells on a tiny island chain with hardly any phone lines wasn't easy. The guy had to satellite phone his distributor on another island and have them flown in." At Brennan's aghast look he added quickly, "But seriously, it wasn't that big of a deal! He needed to get another shipment for a wedding anyway!"

He looked at his girlfriend. "Did you give Booth his gift?"

"Just about to," Angela handed the wrapped object to Booth while Brennan fastened the necklace around her neck.

Booth, taking the object and shaking his head, grinned and scolded jovially, "You guys! I can't believe you got me… _oh wow_–" he stopped, mouth open in surprise.

Set in a perfect circle of onyx glass was a rusted spear-point. The circumference of the onyx was lined with bits of exotic shells set into the black glass. The spear looked to be over a hundred years old, but Booth couldn't be sure.

He could feel Brennan leaning in near his shoulder to get a better look. His surprise at the gift gave way to the suffusion of warmth the spread out from his stomach at the feel of her pressing close to him. He caught site of her auburn hair as she leaned in to inspect the item, the smell of her shampoo…

…someone was speaking to him. Booth snapped to attention again, hoping he hadn't been caught drooling…

"Huh? Oh, yeah... this is really great you two… you shouldn't have." He returned Hodgins' and Angela's beaming smiles.

"It's a spear-point from the early eighteenth century," Angela said.

"They said it had belonged to a fierce young warrior on the island, known for his skill and precision with the spear and arrow. Kinda like an ancient sniper, picking off foes from a distance…" Hodgins offered.

"And reminded us of you," Angela filled in, giving Hodgins a look.

Booth's face grew thoughtful. "Really guys, I don't know what to say."

Angela waved him off, but Hodgins couldn't help himself. "You know, I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of giving you yet another obvious _phallic_ symbol to add to the multitude of virile masculine icons you surround yourself with."

Oblivious to the warning looks from his girlfriend and the slow tightening of Booth's jaw, he continued, "I mean, really, dude. You drive a behemoth of a car. You wear belt buckles that could be '_hey look here!_' signs…your gun is… okay, I'm not even going to _touch_ that obvious one…"

Booth's hands were going to his hips, his eyes narrowing…

"You're in a job of blatant authority over the little guy, and–" he came up short when Angela pinched him. Suddenly he realized he'd voiced a few too many of his man-theories on Booth when he saw the larger man advancing on him somewhat.

"Yep!" Hodgins squeaked hastily. "_Gotcha_. You're welcome for the gift. Leaving now!" And he turned on his heel and quickly exited the office.

Angela shook her head bemusedly, "I do love the man, but sometimes he just doesn't know to quit when he's ahead."

"Uh huh," Booth grunted. He'd turned back to Brennan, who had his spear-point cradled in her hands, studying the stones and shells. She had a curiously troubled look on her face, and Booth sidled up to her side. "What's up, Bones?" he asked.

Brennan furrowed her brow, glanced up at Angela with a look Booth couldn't identify, and then sat back against her desk. Angela, for her part, nodded some unspoken answer to her friend and began to back-track out of the office.

"There's more to that gift, Booth," she said, a subtle challenge in her voice, "But I think I'll let Bren explain it to you."

The grin that lit her face as she closed the office door behind her, leaving the two bewildered partners alone together, could have rivaled any Cheshire cat.  
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Booth stood for a moment, staring quizzically at the closed door before turning back to his partner.

"Okay," he said, trying to lighten the mood that seemed to have become oppressive all of a sudden, "That was weird."

Brennan didn't respond. She was running her fingers almost reverently over the spearhead and the shells incasing it.

Booth tugged at his tie, a bit nervously. He hadn't known what to expect from Brennan the morning following their little 'talk' the night before. He wasn't sure if she would stubbornly act like nothing happened, try to rationalize and lead them into some agonizingly confusing monologue on working relationships – or shut him out completely.

If he was honest, he'd admit to not really knowing where he stood with Brennan lately. She seemed to be horribly uncomfortable in his presence, and practically conjured up every lame-ass reason in the world not to go out into the field with him.

Booth missed her. More than he realized, especially after being alone with her last night. He had her all to himself for the first time in what seemed like weeks, and it had devolved into a bungling display of emotions neither of them was willing to accept or deal with.

Well, _he_ at least, knew he was willing to deal with them. That part was glaringly evident from the way his body acted of its own accord and nearly kissed her! And it wasn't as if he could get her out of his mind when he was away from her either – a night without sleep and some embarrassing bodily reactions to Brennan invading his dreams were evidence, at least in his mind, that his partner had long since ceased to be just a friend.

Looking at her avoiding his gaze, Booth sighed frustratedly. _She's shutting me out, and that's worse than any mind-numbing talk she could ever rope me into. Why does it have to be like this? _

_Why do you always have to screw things up with the woman you lo—_

He quashed that little voice quickly. He was an adult. He could deal with these emotions, handle them… tamp them down if necessary. But he couldn't jeopardize his relationship with Bones. Especially now, since it seemed to be hanging precariously of late.

Booth scrubbed the back of his neck and swallowed. "Um, Bones?"

As if coming out of a daze she looked up at him. "Hmm? Oh, sorry… I was just thinking."

"About what?"

She gestured to the onyx disc. "This is a very special gift, Booth. Hodgins was right, this iron spearhead probably dates back to the 18th century, maybe earlier. It's very rare to find one in this condition."

Booth's heart sagged. He'd been hoping for more than just a history lesson. "Oh."

Her head cocked to the side, "But, it's the shells and stones inlaid around it that make it so…" she paused, looking into his eyes, "… meaningful."

Booth felt a tiny pull at his heartstrings – hope. "Yeah?"

Brennan moved to the couch and invited him to sit next to her. He did so, grateful that she had initiated the close contact for once.

She pointed carefully, "These scallops around the top indicate faithfulness, truth and dependability. He was a warrior that could be trusted to always do the right thing when he was needed."

Booth felt something tug harder on his heart – the warmth he'd felt the night before as Brennan opened herself to him came back in a flash flood, and it was all he could do not to grin like an idiot.

"These are pieces of conch shells," she continued, her voice lowering to an almost reverent hush. "Signs of power and leadership. He was an honorable man that people looked up to. Someone … someone a person could look to when they were vulnerable."

She wasn't looking at the spearhead any longer, instead her eyes were locked with Booth's.

"And these are called _flamingo tongue._"

At that, Booth smirked. "Weird name for a shell."

She smiled and looked down at the piece. "I'm surprised they actually found some of these. I had thought they were rare."

She paused and Booth desperately hoped she wasn't reverting back to scientist Brennan. She had captivated him mind and soul with her explanation of the shells – but it wasn't the history that was reeling his heart in, it was the fact that she was talking about him. Like her necklace, he knew the shells in his gift would be meaningful to him personally; he just hadn't expected them to fit so perfectly…or to sound so wonderful coming from Brennan.

Brennan, too, was momentarily dumbstruck with the significance of what she was telling Booth. She felt no unease as she realized how those meanings fit her partner like the proverbial glove. She knew all this about Booth of course; the strength of his convictions, intuitiveness and bravery endeared him to her after they learned how to deal with each other's clashing stubbornness.

It was his unfaltering sense of duty that had made him bring her father in, even if he agreed with Max Keenan's motives. His innate sense of justice and reasoning were so ingrained in his being – how could she expect him to act any differently.

It was then that Brennan realized – Angela was right. Some part of her had been mad at him. Added to it was the impending loss of Zack Addy, one of her colleagues – friends – and she had lost quite a few people close to her this year. As always, when Temperance Brennan feared loss, she pushed away. Perhaps, along with her squelched anger at her father's capture, she'd feared loosing Booth as her partner too. After all, one phone call from his boss and he'd be reassigned…

_God, I'm psycho-analyzing myself now!_

"Hey."

Booth's soft voice so close to her face jogged her brain back to the present. "Oh, sorry." She smiled shyly and he grinned.

"So what does that _flamingo's toe_ mean?" He asked.

"_Tongue_," she corrected easily, "It means strength and courage."

She watching him grin shyly, his cheeks coloring with a self-conscious blush. It was very attractive, and Brennan laughed a little.

"I think we can safely say that Angela and Hodgins picked out a very appropriate gift." She watched the blush grow and he laughed.

"Yeah well, I was just expecting a little bobble-head hula girl to put on my dashboard." He couldn't help it. After dozens of commendations for bravery, after memos, certificates and ceremonies for all his years of service and duty – only Brennan's quiet praise of his courage or strength could make him have an 'aw shucks' moment.

Brennan decided to voice the thoughts that had been plaguing her. "Angela thinks the reason I haven't been working in the field with you lately is because I was mad at you for bringing in my father."

She handed the spearhead back to Booth, keeping her eyes lowered and her expression neutral. She heard Booth exhale a breath.

"Are you?" He questioned, his voice was tinged with hope and a little fear. He'd been waiting for her to bring up the subject of their burgeoning distance, but he hadn't really been expecting this. _You took her only living parent to jail, you ass, do you really think even Bones wouldn't feel something about that?!_

Brennan thought carefully about her answer. "Honestly, I don't know." She looked up to his face, and suddenly Booth could see a wave of vulnerability wash over her. "You know I don't buy into all this psychology, but I think it's logical to believe that there may be some internal reasons I've been distancing myself from you."

Booth, carefully, placed his arm one the back of the couch to turn himself to face her fully. "Bones, it's only natural for you to be a little angry with me. I mean, he is your father."

Brennan looked down at her hands in her lap. "That's not the only thing," she murmured.

When Booth leaned down, dipping his head to catch her eye, she sighed heavily. "I think I was looking for an excuse to be angry with you. If I distanced myself from the attachment of having you as a partner, then it wouldn't be as big of an emotional blow if you got called to another assignment."

He searched her expression – it was painful for her to admit these insecurities, especially after what had happened to her that year. He ached to give her some comfort – of any kind.

Then it dawned on him. Zach's letter and possible assignment to Iraq – Brennan had become attached to this hodge-podge family of squints. And now she might be losing one of them.

She was afraid to lose any part of the only stable thing in her life, so instead of letting it hurt her, she was willing to bide her time in the lab with Zack – seemingly ignoring that situation until absolutely necessary. She wasn't choosing a replacement for him and returning to the field, because she didn't want to admit she might lose another part of her close-knit family for good.

And she was pushing him away, lest they lose _each other_ too. The weight of it all came crashing in on Booth, and he had the undeniable urge to gather her in his arms and hold on forever.

He murmured, "You haven't chosen a replacement for Zack yet, because you don't want things to change."

"Change is overrated. Sometimes, I think being static is a good thing in life, even if Fate, as you say, has other plans." She looked small, tired.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bones." Gently, he crooked a finger under her chin to lift her eyes to his. It was so comfortably familiar – reminiscent of a similar confirmation of feelings in front of the diner, what seemed like a lifetime ago. "I've always been here, and as far as I'm concerned, I always will be."

The two stared into each other's eyes, reading the silent undercurrent of emotion within. Brennan broke the silence first, taking his hand in hers and holding it tightly.

"I know you are, Booth. If there is one thing I can always count on," she paused, and then smiled slyly, "… it's your stubbornness."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling from his chest and raising goose bumps on Brennan's skin. "Yeah, right. Look who's talking."

They both laughed. Brennan looked down at their entwined hands, and started a little when Booth's thumb traced a path across her cheek, catching the tear she didn't know had escaped. She berated herself mentally for being so weak, crying for no real reason. She'd been doing that a lot lately around him…

Booth's voice was tentative and soft as he asked, "Some changes can be a good thing, can't they?"

Brennan looked up to see his face full of shy hope… and something she hadn't been expecting. _Love_. It nearly made her throat close up with emotion, and she had to swallow the lump. Fear tickled her psyche…fear of the ramifications, fear of what he was asking of her.

Booth seemed to sense her trepidation and he squeezed her hand encouragingly. Silently he prayed she wouldn't run from him, that she'd realize he wasn't making some ultra-dramatic declaration, but that she'd see that he was simply offering himself to her again. That she might know him, and understand that the fact that their relationship was more than partners – more than friends – wasn't such a scary change after all.

She blinked the tears welling again, a little angry she was becoming so emotional (especially at work) – but she smiled. What was so wrong allowing someone to mean a great deal to you? And what was wrong with letting someone you trust _know_ you.

_This is Booth…you trust him with your life, why not with…other things…_

"No," she answered finally. "There's nothing wrong with some changes in life, I guess. How else would humans adapt?"

Booth breathed a relieved laugh. He ran his hand over her cheek again, imprinting the feel of her skin to his memory. "I knew you'd find a logical explanation."

The partners found themselves laughing again, all the stress of the past couple of days easing with the sound. And without asking for the ill-named 'guy hug' – Booth pulled Brennan to him and wrapped his arms around her. One hand rubbing circles on her back in an infinitely intimate way, the other at her neck, he allowed himself to revel in her warmth and how right it felt as her body seemed to meld to his.

She, in turn, snaked her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. There was something comforting and a little astonishing that she felt this at ease embracing Booth in her office. But she needed this contact – craved it.

And Booth knew that if this was all they were capable of dealing with – if all the emotions and unspoken feelings they had for each other only added up to _this_ right now, he would be more than grateful for it. He was a patient man, after all.

-----------------------------

"Zack, sweetie…you _really_ don't want to be knocking on her door right now." Angela stood between the young doctor and Brennan's office door, holding up a finger of warning.

Zack was perplexed. "But I need to confer with Dr. Brennan about some scarring I found on the scull of the victim we've been working on."

Angela crossed her arms. "It can wait."

"But–"

"Zack, I am the 'door guardian'. And I have spoken." Angela deadpanned, as Zack screwed up his face in consternation.

"You were just in there giving her and Booth their souvenirs from your trip, what does it mater if I go in to ask Dr. Brennan something now? Its not like Booth will mind…" Zach tried to explain but was cut off by Hodgins' hands on his shoulders.

Angela glared at the two, as Hodgins steered the younger man away from the treacherous situation.

"Dude," Hodgins muttered as he pushed Zack back toward the work platform, "You do _not_ want to go there…"

* * *

_**READ AND REVIEW**_! Let me know if you and the flying monkeys that were set upon my mused enjoyed it! Huge thanks and hugs to super-betas **htbthomas** and **Sean** **Montgomery!**


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